


Tempest

by GreenGold



Series: Smoldering [2]
Category: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenGold/pseuds/GreenGold
Summary: The passionate first meeting between builder Mel and Higgins in a Sandrock hotel.
Relationships: Builder/Higgins (My Time At Portia), Female Builder/Higgins (My Time At Portia)
Series: Smoldering [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673683
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to "Simply the Best"  
> Set in Sandrock, in an alternate universe where their rich resources allow for a more populated city. Written prior to the release of any information about My Time at Sandrock.

Mel sat at the bar, sipping her drink and watching the flow of people. With night approaching, the steady trickle of patrons entering the hotel had increased. Most approached the receptionist before floating off to their rooms. A few draped themselves over couches in luxurious boredom as they waited for their companions. Some wandered over to the bar. None, she noticed, paid any attention to the fountain in the lobby.

That such a tribute to opulence drew no attention spoke volumes of the wealth of the other guests. This was Sandrock, a land rich in gemstones and precious metals but decidedly lacking in water. The local residents relied heavily on imported water to survive. The use of such a large volume for decorative purposes, especially when much would be evaporate in the dry heat and require constant replacement, made for an ostentatious display.

The rest of the lobby was quite beautiful as well. In the corners of the room, sunken tile planters cradled the roots of beautiful flowering bushes. Thin curtains framed the open windows, gently fluttering in the warm evening breeze. The smoke of patchouli incense spilled out of ornate golden censers. Tapestries deserving of a museum wall, that certainly predated the Age of Darkness, hung on the walls without fanfare. A rare pair of functional elevators in gilded cages awaited guests.

Although she felt as out out of place as the fountain, no one paid Mel any mind either. Her loose hair stood out in a time when elaborate braids were the fashion. While she had traded her jeans for the billowy skirts of Sandrock in an effort to stay cool, she had kept her plain tee. Unlike the wealthy guests, which was all of them in a place like this, her golden adornments were nails stained by spices rather than delicate jewelry.

Her being here was an improbability both relieving and tragic. When she traveled alone, Mel stuck to cozy and humble hostels. This trip was funded by her intended travel companion, a now-former boyfriend. The romance was fleeting, passionate. Both knew it had an end, as he was promised to the heir of another wealthy family. The wedding was moved up for some political reason, and that was that. Or so he said. She secretly wondered if he had lied about the planned timing and had always intended to use this solo trip to apologize. In any case, what she had expected to be a bittersweet final trip abroad as a couple had become a solo holiday. She was doing her best to celebrate her newfound freedom without giving in to the desire to wallow in the accompanying loneliness.

A dejected sigh escaped her lips and she looked down at her glass. Even the drinks were made to highlight wealth. The bartender had suggested this drink. It was made with crushed ice. Freezing water was an expensive and largely pointless endeavor in deserts like Sandrock and her native Barnarock after the Age of Darkness. This water had been imported, frozen, and subsequently crushed- causing much to return to water upon impact and accelerating the melting process for the rest. A painfully refreshing beverage for a lifelong desert dweller like herself.

Mel took to rotating the glass, first clockwise then reverse. The slurry held its course for a few brief moments after the direction change, unable to keep up. Maybe she should go to bed. It was early, but she was not in the mood to visit the night markets alone again. She took a sip of her drink and returned her attention to the other patrons.

To her left there was an old woman draped in bright red silks and brilliant yellow gold, flanked by muscular bodyguards. Her style made it clear she was a Sandrock native. Red was a rare color here, Mel could hardly pull her eyes away. It was quick to pale in the sun, making its sun-bleached sister, pink, a more common sight.

On her arms, several golden bangles jingled. Among them, Mel could see her room key. All keys at this hotel were gold-plated with a large eye of the tiger gem set in the bow. This woman's key, like all others at this hotel, was fixed on a bangle-sized ring with gemstones. The hotel used different gems and settings to indicate what floor a room was on and how lavish the accommodations were. The ring on her wrist looked to sport eye of the tiger stones as well, though Mel was not certain from this distance.

Watching a little longer, Mel realized the men keeping the elderly woman company appeared to be her guests rather than protection. Or possibly both. The woman was quite openly flirting with them. The tone of voice, a lingering gaze, a hand on their groin. While it was an unusual group, a woman of her status could presumably sate any sexual craving. Before too long, the triad left the bar in the direction of the elevators.

Mel looked over to the other occupants of the bar. A pair of men, sitting close and talking animatedly. It seemed everyone had found someone to spend the night with except for her. She really should go out. Today had been the day her ex wed a stranger. Celebrations would be underway back in Barnarock. There were bars out in the city here that would grow busier as the night markets opened, but she had not yet found the will to drag herself out. She contented herself with watching the other patrons for now.

The men at the end of the bar were a mismatched pair. One looked to be a local, or at least an established transplant. He was a wide man, short in stature. He wore loose blue silks that complemented his tan skin and yellow beard. His hair was a sun-bleached white-blonde, twisted into elaborate braids. He was an odd sort, the waistline, braids, and clothes suggestive of a man who worked little but the tan highlighting his time outdoors during daylight hours. Perhaps a manager of some sort or a merchant?

His striking companion was quite obviously a traveler. The tall man had a mess of thick black hair, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. He wore navy slacks and a well-fitted white button-down shirt. The cuffs were rolled to his elbows and the top several buttons had been opened, revealing the top of his chest. Watching his forearms and chest move as he talked, she noticed the hint of muscles. Like his company, this was someone who dressed like they had money but looked to be working for it. Mel idly wondered if this was his first time in Sandrock. He clung to the formal clothes of some cooler homeland even though they clearly made him sweat. It must be a sense of duty or pride, as anyone in this hotel could afford a new wardrobe.

After a time, the men stood up. Mel internally bid them farewell, readying herself to be alone save for the bartender. She watched the pair exchanged a decidedly chaste- no, entirely platonic- handshake. The shorter man slapped the other's back, inclining his head toward Mel while maintained eye contact with his companion. Then the stout man turned to her and winked before exiting the hotel. The tall man remained by the bar, sitting down at the bar once more after the stout man has disappeared from view.

Odd.

Were they not here together? What was the meaning of the wink?

Mel returned her attention to the flow of patrons in the lobby, occasionally glancing back to the handsome stranger now alone at the bar. She noticed he was drinking sand tea, an unusual choice. A hot drink in this heat, caffeine at night, tea at a bar. Mel was intrigued.

She passed some time like that. Watching strangers, admiring the decor, stealing glances at the stranger absorbed in his tea. Her own drink was nearly gone when she looked up and found the man staring intently at the fountain. Here was the only person other than her that seemed to notice it. Mel had to meet him.

She motioned the bartender over and ordered two glasses of spiked sand. It was a hot drink made by brewing a potent alcohol in sand tea leaves. Here it was served over perfectly spherical ice cubes. Another little display of affluence.

Mel carried the two glasses over and sat in one of the vacant seats next to the stranger. When he kept his attention trained on the fountain, she began speaking.

"What do you think of all this pageantry?"

"Hm?" he replied, turning his head to look at her.

His eyes locked onto hers and he pulled his raised eyebrows back into a purposefully neutral expression. He maintained eye contact, not straying to examine her face or body. His gaze was intense. Mel found herself momentarily speechless.

"The decor, the fountain in a desert, the ice in a hot drink," her hand waved toward each as she elaborated. She slid the second glass over in front of him.

"It..." he began, then looked down at the new drink "it has its uses."

Cryptic. She was keenly aware of how captivated she was.

"I'm Mel," she said, hand outstretched.

"Higgins," came the curt reply. 

He kept his hands on his sand tea, refusing to shake her hand. He looked back up to the fountain and continued drinking. Mel debated leaving. The handsome stranger seemed uninterested. Surely an attractive person in such a grand hotel had more people interested than they had time for. But there was no risk, no pride on the line. This was a brief vacation in a hotel she could never afford to visit again meeting a man she would never see again. She pressed on.

"Well, Higgins, are you in Sandrock for business or pleasure?"

He looked back at her and narrowed his eyes. Disinterest she could understand, but his demeanor bordered on irritation.

"Business."

Oh, Peach help her. He was beautiful and tight-lipped and barely acknowledging her. Why was this what she always craved? It was the unavailability of her ex, of every ex, all over again. She resolved to go out tonight in search of another tall stranger if this did not progress. Perhaps she would flee to do the same even if it did.

"Maybe that drink was for business," she said, eyeing his tea. "But maybe these ones, "she sipped the spiked sand she had brought over, "could be for pleasure?"

He sighed in visible annoyance.

"Listen, lady. Time is money and you're asking for both. It's a no."

This threw Mel off. What a peculiar statement. Where was he from? It sounded like a refusal but she could not help arguing her case.

"Oh, no, I'm not asking you to pay for the drinks. I bought them for us."

Or they went on her ex's tab. Details.

"Do you think I'm an idiot? My associate told me about the escorts the hotel likes to send. I'm not interested. Like I said, I'm here on business. I have work to do."

Mel's mouth fell open and her cheeks reddened. An escort? She was dressed conservatively, in an eclectic mix of formal Sandrock and casual Barnarock attire. Her outfit had no strategically revealing panels. Her hair was not braided, she wore no gold, she had a modest figure and a plain face.

"I-I'm not," she stammered helplessly. After a pause to collect herself, "Do I look like an escort?"

He set his tea down and fully turned to face her. Now his gaze traveled over her face and body deliberately. Mel felt it was a look of judgment rather than appreciation. Perhaps he had no interest in women. She had seen him here with a man.

"No," he conceded, and it almost felt like an insult. "You're obviously attractive but these-" he took her nearest hand in his and brought it closer to his face.

Time slowed and heat spread through her chest in the wake of his compliment and touch. 

"These don't look like the nails of an escort."

She blushed as a mixture of anger and elation bubbled in her stomach. He was right. A high-end escort in the city would not have her spice-stained hands. That he thought to look at her nails and knew what their appearance meant betrayed his background. Her assessment that him noticing the fountain made him different that the others was spot-on.

"So," he went on, eyes narrowing as he maintained eye contact, "who are you? Some pretty little Bandirat come to con your way into my room in order to steal my valuables?"

They were more alike than he was ready to admit, it seemed.

His hands, still warm from holding his tea, held hers steadily. She could feel calluses on his hands where they gripped hers. Were his shirt not unbuttoned and sleeves not rolled up, his slender frame and clothing would have hidden his strength well. Proximity granted confirmation of that musculature she had seen from across the bar. Sitting this close, she was able to see clear tan lines on his neck and wrists. 

Mel grabbed one of his hands with the hand he had been holding and rubbed her thumb over the calluses in his palm. His eyes widened.

"Calluses."

She grabbed his forearm next and held it up. His arm tensed.

"Muscles."

Finally she rested her hand on his shoulder and let her fingers trail along his neck. He held his breath.

"Tan lines."

She took took his chin in her hands and directed his head to look up at her.

"You're not soft like the others either."

She took pleasure in the snobbish stranger's sudden discomfort before mercifully releasing him. The stranger sat, rigid and quiet. Both of her hands dug around in her skirt's generous pockets. Finally, one hand produced her room key. She set it on the bar between them. Her key ring was made of twin gold bands flanking a channel of rubies. She was in a penthouse suite. She let him admire it before sliding the key ring onto her wrist.

"As you can see, Higgins, I have no reason to take your possessions," she said. "Although I admit I had hoped to take you to bed."

He sat in stunned silence, his face a brilliant red. Was it general discomfort, nervousness at receiving a direct invitation, or anger over her mocking his possessiveness over an implied smaller fortune? Could go any way in a place like this.

"But," she said quietly, giving him an out, "if you're not interested in women or me, I won't cry."

He said nothing.

"I'll be heading to my room now, with or without you." She poked the spiked sand she had bought for him, "Some liquid courage if you need it."

Mel stood up and strode confidently toward the elevators. Either he would follow or she would ready herself to hunt for a pretty local in one of the public bars.

The gilded gates opened and she stepped into the elevator. A pair of feet boarded the elevator behind her. The gates shut. She turned. It was him. He stared down at her, unmoving, barely a step from her. His face was still flushed, something like apprehension sat on his features. Mel thought she caught the scent of liquor on his breath, cutting through the musky perfume of the lobby. His hands floated in the air, as if he could not bring himself to move a limb closer to her.

She held his gaze and breathed, "Take me."

He darted forward, pushing her into grillwork at the back of the elevator. Their bodies pressed together, his fingers in her hair, his lips on hers as they rose through the floors.

**Author's Note:**

> Pairs well with Halsey's song "Hurricane"


End file.
